Everything Changes
by PartiPooper
Summary: One ordinary evening, Kyle accidentally sends Cartman a sexy photograph. One ordinary evening, the two of them wind up having heated phone sex. One ordinary evening, everything changes. (Smutty Kyman; Rated M for profanities and sexual scenes.)


Change. It was a gradual thing, Cartman had come to learn. It could take days, months, years, but regardless everything inevitably changed. Sometimes the changes were small, like his fat evening out and being distributed fairly around his body as he grew, so he was less _"that fat kid"_ and more _"that big guy" _(but still fat all the same – it was a genetic thing, not a greed thing, or so he said). Sometimes the changes were bigger though, and involved such sickening, confusing things as _feelings_.

Of all the things that scared him, feelings were the worst. If it was dark, he could turn on a light; if there was a spider, he could smack it with a slipper; but if he had _feelings_, then there was fuck all he could do to get rid of them. They sat stubbornly in his heart and refused to budge, and he could drape a curtain over them or artfully place an aesthetic decoration in front of them, but that didn't hide the fact that they were still _there_. And maybe it wouldn't have been so bad, if it weren't for them being the _worst_ kind of feelings.

Love sucked. Love meant putting yourself through pain and misery because you cared too much about something you couldn't even trust not to break or to break you. Love was all-consuming and incontrollable, and Eric felt it deep in every atom of his being every time he saw, heard, or so much as even _thought_ of the red-headed, green-eyed, sharp-tongued monstrosity that was Kyle Fucking Broflovski. Oh, how he hated love – how it made his heart flutter and belly burst with butterflies without his say-so. If he wanted to blink, he could; if he wanted to hold his breath, he could; but if he wanted to stop feeling love, then he had to just up and die altogether.

Sometimes he wondered whether dying would be best, because, more than anything, love hurt; especially when the one you were in love _with_ had been fooling around with his generically-handsome dream-boy super best friend for the past few weeks, and they sat too close at lunch and sent each other _looks_ across the classroom, and all of it made Cartman want to throw up, quite frankly. Throw up, and die. Too bad he wasn't a quitter.

It wasn't all bad, he supposed. He was at least grateful that he and Kyle had grown closer over the years – that was one of the good, big changes. Yeah, they still fought on pretty much a daily basis and debated about every topic under the sun, and sometimes even those beyond it, but they had become better at turning heated arguments into teasing banter, and neither needed too long to cool off before they could go back to being in each other's company without feeling the need to murder. Maybe that was worse though. Maybe it was worse that although they had gotten _so_ close, still Stan was always one or two steps ahead of him on the friendship scale. Such was Cartman's life.

But whatever. His whole entire everything didn't begin and end with Kyle. He had other things going on. He had friends, and hobbies, and school stuff, the latter of which being exactly what he was doing one ordinary evening. Or, what had started out as an ordinary evening, until everything changed.

He was at home, seated at his desk writing an essay on his laptop, when out of nowhere his phone vibrated, buzzing a few inches across the wooden surface. He finished the sentence he was typing before he picked it up and looked at it, and his heart aggravated him by leaping when he saw that it was a text from Kyle. He opened it, not really knowing what to expect, but what he got was not what he would have ever anticipated in a million years…

It was a photograph.

It was a _naughty_ photograph.

Cartman went wide-eyed and felt heat rising rapidly to his cheeks as he took in the sight of Kyle grinning mischievously, stood on his knees on his bed. He was holding the bottom of his t-shirt up with his teeth, showing off his perky, pink nipples, and his hand was wrapped around his rock-hard boner. Basically, he was looking fucking hot as fucking fuck. Cartman swallowed thickly as he stared at the photograph, unable to tear his gaze away, but just then the phone rang. It was Kyle, again, and even though he felt as though he was about to have a heart-attack, Cartman answered it.

"Cartman!" Kyle sounded panicked. "_Please_, do _not_ open the text I just sent you!"

"Too late."

A long pause ensued, in which Cartman wondered whether Kyle had died of embarrassment – in which he wondered whether he was still wearing nothing but a t-shirt right at that moment, squirming in half-naked humiliation atop his rumpled sheets. His cock twitched.

Finally, a sigh. "Fuck my life."

"You need to watch who you're sending this stuff to, Jew," Cartman said, perhaps a little bitterly, but maybe he was a little bit sore that it hadn't been meant for him in the first place. Yeah, Kyle was fooling around with Stan, but that didn't mean he couldn't hope. He spun the chair away from the desk and leant back in it, absently rubbing his stomach as he grinned into the receiver. "Stan's lucky, isn't he?"

"Shut up, fatass!" Cartman could practically _hear_ Kyle blushing. It made him chuckle. Red always had looked good on him.

"Did he ask for a pic, or did you just decide to throw him a bone? Pun intended."

"I am _not_ having this conversation, Cartman. Just delete it and let's forget about it, okay?"

"How can I? I've seen a lot of forgettable porn, but that? That shit's engraved in my brain now."

"Oh, God," Kyle moaned woefully. "Fuck my fucking life."

"More like fuck _me_, Kyle. I didn't know you'd grown to be so hot." That was a lie as fat as himself, but Kyle didn't need to know that.

"Gross! Quit checking me out!"

"Kind of hard not to. You _did_ just send me a pic to check you out with."

"That was a mistake! C'mon, Cartman, just delete it and don't bring it up again."

"Are you still hard?" He didn't know why he blurted that question out. He was inherently a risk taker, but that question was _beyond_ risky – it was downright fucking dangerous. Curiosity killed the cat was the way things usually went, yet the silent pause that followed that question was so long – so _telling_ – that it made Cartman smirk. "You are, aren't you?"

"No!" Kyle cried, a little too loud, a little too late.

Cartman chuckled. "Yup. You are. What got you going? Thinking of being taken up the ass?"

"Stop it…" Kyle replied meekly.

"Yeah, I bet that's what got you so hard. You want to be pounded into your sheets, don't you? Want to be fucked 'til you scream? Bet you're loud in bed." All that could be heard on the other end was a soft, shuddery gasp, and Cartman's smirk went wider, just as his hand went down, below the waistband of his boxers. "I'd make you scream," he continued when it didn't sound like Kyle was going to reply anytime soon. "I'd fuck you so hard the whole neighbourhood would hear you screaming my name."

"Oh, God," Kyle whimpered. Cartman absently wondered why the redhead hadn't blown up at him by that point, why he was still on the phone with him at all, still listening to any of that shit – hell, why _he_ was even _saying_ any of that shit in the first place – but he kept on going, stroking himself as he did, imagining the inside of his hand was the walls of Kyle's ass.

"I'd make you cum so hard," he promised. "You'd cum like a fucking avalanche. I'd make you so dirty, Kyle. Would you like that? I bet you would, you fucking cum-slut." Suddenly, Cartman stopped everything as there was an unrestrained moan from the other end. He blinked, wide-eyed. Wait, was he actually…? "Shit, you touching yourself?"

"…I…I…" Kyle audibly inhaled a shaky breath. "…Y-yeah…"

'_Well, shit,'_ Cartman thought. He hadn't any idea what had taken over Kyle to make him act that way, but he wasn't about to let up when the thing he had been wanting to happen for _years_ finally was. "How are you touching yourself?" he asked, perhaps sounding a little too eager, but his over-excitement could be excused when the guy he had been having wet dreams about since he was thirteen was touching himself to his fucking dirty talk.

"M-my…" Kyle could be heard swallowing thickly. "My dick."

"You jerking yourself?"

"Mm-hmm."

Cartman thought of that – of the long fingers of Kyle's slim hand wrapped around his dick, sliding up and down it, slow and sensual – and it was bloody beautiful. "Fucking hot," he rumbled, his voice low and deep, and Kyle made a keening sound in return. "You on your bed?"

"Y-yeah."

"Got your legs spread?"

"No."

"Spread 'em. Wide," Cartman commanded, tightening his hand on his cock as he imagined the beautiful sight – the eighth wonder of the world. Fuck, how he'd love to see it in person. It was probably everything he had ever imagined and more. "You spread 'em yet?" he asked shortly. Kyle responded with what was probably supposed to have been a hum but came out as a whimper, but that was answer enough for Cartman. "Bet you look fucking perfect," he whispered hoarsely. "I wanna get in between those legs, fuck."

"What would you do?" Kyle asked, and it made Cartman falter, that he was reciprocating at all. He was too startled to answer straight away, and it made Kyle think that the question begged clarifying. "I-if you were between my legs…what would you do?"

It took a few seconds, but sooner or later, Cartman managed to regain control of his fuzzy head, and his erratic heart, though his mouth was more than a little dry, so his voice was gravelly when he replied, "Rub my big, fat, juicy cock against yours."

Kyle barked a breathless laugh. "Blowing your own trumpet a little there, aren't you?"

"I'd blow _your_ trumpet," Cartman replied, and instantly regretted it, because, fuck, that had sounded so fucking stupid, goddamnit. Kyle laughed again though, so maybe it was okay.

"Yeah? Bet you're good with your mouth, fatass."

Cartman swallowed slowly, his Adam's apple bobbing, still unable to believe that what was happening _was_. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was all just a really super great vivid wet dream. Whatever it was, he immersed himself in it. "Damn right I am. I'd suck your cock like it's the best meal I've ever fucking had."

"Fuck, yeah," Kyle breathed, and then gasped, his breath hitching.

"I'd eat your ass too," Cartman added, almost as an afterthought, though really it was one of his primary thoughts those days, when he was lying awake in bed at night with too much time on his hands. "I'd stick my tongue right up your tight little hole and take you for the ride of your life."

"Shit," Kyle gasped. "I'm close." Selfish as it was, Cartman didn't want him to be. He was nowhere near ready to end it all.

"Go speakerphone," he said. "You're going to need both hands." There was fumbling on the other end, and then a muffling as the phone was presumably set down atop the bed covers.

"For what?" Kyle asked, sounding slightly out of breath.

"Stick your fingers in your mouth and suck 'em, Jew. Keep jerking it." Kyle didn't respond to that, but Cartman could hear wet noises, gasps and moans, and they made him shiver and swear under his breath. Kyle was doing everything he told him to, and it was fucking great. "Yeah, suck 'em like it's my cock. They wet yet?"

"Mm-hmm," Kyle sounded muffled, like he still had a finger-filled mouth, and Cartman worshipped the image of Kyle, laid out on his bed in practically nothing, jerking his rock-hard boner to _his_ voice, his fingers dripping with saliva, just like Cartman's dick was dripping with pre-cum. He was so close after so little. The imagination truly was a wondrous thing.

"Good. Ram 'em up your little hole, Kyle. Imagine it's me. Imagine it's me up behind you on your bed, finger-fucking you open. I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, God, yes," Kyle whispered. As he carried out what had been asked of him, he descended into a chorus of delicious moans that were music to Cartman's fucking ears. Mozart, Vivaldi, Beethoven – _all _of them fuckers could go fuck themselves, because Kyle's noises were the true fucking classics. Cartman began to pant with the effort of bucking himself into his hand, his chair squeaking as he did, his hand tightening around the cock, squeezing him rougher, and he imagined it was Kyle he was fucking into, feeling so tight and so hot. The moans in his ear helped that fantasy along.

"Yeah, that's right," Cartman growled. "Fucking _moan_ for me bitch. Fuck, I'm so fucking hard right now. I'm gonna cum any minute."

"Me too," Kyle whined. "Oh, God, me too."

"Say my name, Jew," Cartman demanded, his voice thick and deep. "Say my fucking name, out loud."

"Cartman," Kyle gasped, his breath hitching again.

Cartman shook his head, even though Kyle couldn't see him. "No, my...Fuck…" He was _so_ close, he was on the cusp of climaxing, and he found it hard to talk or hear or see. All he could do was imagine Kyle in bed, shoving his fingers in and out of his puckered hole, imagining it was _him_. He hissed through his teeth as it sent a wave of pleasure coursing through him, making him shiver. "My other name. My _first_ name. Say it."

There was a long pause, in which all that could be heard were breathy moans and gasps, the rustling of fabric and the squeaking of the chair; but then, finally, salvation. "…E-Eric."

"Oh, f-fuck!" Cartman winced his eyes shut as he felt himself finally ascend to the heavens. He exploded into his hand, jerking wildly and out of rhythm, feeling adrenaline thrumming throughout him, and then a sense of endless bliss and satisfaction, which was only heightened when he heard Kyle being sent over the edge too. At first the redhead sounded like he was hiccupping when his breath hitched twice – like he was about to sneeze, which was simultaneously the weirdest and cutest thing ever to Cartman – and then he cried out, long and loud, so that it was miraculous if the rest of his house hadn't heard him. And then it was silent, and they were still.

Cartman laid back in his chair, his spent cock hanging limp in one hand, the other shakily holding the phone to his ear as he panted into it. His cheeks felt hot and were probably red as heck, and his heart jumped as he imagined Kyle in the same state – a tired, panting mess, spread out delectably on his filthy, cum-covered sheets. God, he wanted to see him like that. He could hear him breathing slow and heavy through the phone as he came down from his post-orgasm high, and then there was fumbling, accompanied by a weary sigh, as Kyle picked his phone back up and returned it to his ear.

"What a fucking mess."

Cartman laughed. "Which part? Blowing a load all over the place, or blowing a load because of _me_?"

"Both, really. Shit, how did that-?" There was another sigh, and Cartman could just imagine Kyle running a hand through his hair, as he always did when he stressed about every little thing. Not that what they had just done was little. Really, it was probably the hugest thing in Cartman's life.

"I dunno, but it was fucking great." Cartman's grin could be heard in his voice. "You're a _hot_ little Jew, aren't you? Spicy."

"Ugh, don't talk about it," Kyle groaned, sounding like someone waking up with a hangover after a crazy night.

"Yeah, you're right, we probably shouldn't. After all," Cartman said, his grin growing to be shit-eating, "Stan would be mad if he heard I made you cum like a porn star."

"Oh, shit. Stan," Kyle muttered as though he had just remembered who he was meant to be officially fooling around with, who the picture that had started that whole thing was meant to have gone to. "Cartman, w-we…we can't tell him. This was a mistake, so…" Personally, Cartman didn't like the use of that noun for what they had just done. The truth was that he regretted none of it, not even the niggling fear growing in the back of his mind that Kyle would find out what it all meant, what Cartman getting hot about him even _meant_ in the bigger picture. None of it was a mistake to him, and he would happily do it over and over again and again given the chance.

"It was fucking hot though, right?" Cartman cursed the way his voice had gone high at the end there, betraying too much hopefulness, too much fucking insecurity.

"Listen, let's just…" Kyle began, before pausing, and then letting out another sigh. "Okay, _fine_, it _was_ kind of hot," he grumbled reluctantly. "But let's just forget about it, okay? Delete the picture, delete this whole fucking thing, and never bring it up again."

"What if I want to remember it?" It was a daring thing for Cartman to say, and he knew it, but, fuck it, he had just had phone sex with his crush, so maybe he was feeling a little bit daring.

Kyle only groaned. "Fine, whatever. Just don't talk to me or _anybody_ about it. _I'm _going to forget it."

"Hmm," Cartman smirked, before replying in that same husky voice he had used to get the redhead off, "We'll see."

"Urgh," Kyle said with an audible grimace. "Don't do that."

Cartman raised a brow, smile ever-present. "Don't do what?"

"Sound all…_mind-game-y_. It makes it hard to trust you."

Cartman laughed, actually feeling it swelling in his gut, and it was probably a sort of talent of Kyle's, the way that only he could make him laugh like that so easily, so much. "When have you ever trusted me, Kyle?"

"Never. And I'm not about to start."

'_And yet you're trusting me to delete a sexy photograph of you and to not tell anybody about the phone sex it caused,'_ Cartman thought. Not to mention that Kyle _had_ trusted him _many _times before in the past; but he didn't bring any of that up, in favour of simply saying, "I figured."

There was quiet after that – a silence that grew all the more awkward the longer it went on with neither of them knowing how to say goodbye after what had happened between them. When it was broken, it was done so by Kyle, who could only take so much of the atmosphere's weight for so long. "…Well, I'll…see you at school, I guess…" he mumbled. "…You…You _are_ going to delete the picture, aren't you?"

"Yeah, yeah," Cartman replied, feeling sad that the whole thing was over. It had been nice whilst it had lasted though, and it was a memory he would cherish, and perhaps even take into his dreams with him, and _definitely_ store in his wank bank. "Night, Jew."

"Goodnight, Cartman."

For some reason, hearing his last name in Kyle's voice sounded worse than usual. Maybe it was because he had finally heard his first one in it – he had gotten a taste of the forbidden fruit, as it were – and he was aware that he wouldn't be savouring it again any time soon. The thought had him sighing sadly after Kyle had hung up, as he set the phone back down on his desk with a disappointing clack. He looked back up at his half-written essay on his laptop, but couldn't bring himself to keep at it. Instead he just sighed yet again, heavier that time, and slumped forward onto his desk, burying his head in his folded arms. Forbidden fruit indeed.

Cartman wasn't really sure about anything that had just happened that evening. There was one thing he _was_ sure about though: there was no way in hell he was deleting that photograph.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

**I became inspired to write this after a conversation I had with MissMaryMason. We both headcanon that Kyle is a really super horny teenager (this theory is backed by his being diagnosed as a sex addict in S14E01 _Sexual Healing_), as well as a big loser, so we agreed that he would probably do awkward things like accidentally sending a sex picture to the wrong person. Ah, Mary, you're so inspiring to me. Oh! I shouldn't forget to mention that MissMaryMason has written a delectable little something too: a Skype sex fic called _Ohne Dich_. Please check it out if you want a quick, smutty Kyman pick-me-up!  
>Writing smut still makes me squirm a bit, and I pray that this isn't written unbearably badly. The thing is, I actually don't know whether to leave this where it is or write more for it. I feel like I <em>could<em> go somewhere further with this, and I've got a few ideas here and there, but ultimately I'm not one hundred percent sure. And so, this is it for now; but don't be surprised if I add more chapters in future, if inspiration happens to hit me.  
>Thank you for reading this, and I hope you liked doing so as much as I liked writing it.<strong>

**Disclaimer: South Park does not belong to me, but to its creators, Trey Parker and Matt Stone.**


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